


and the ghosts that we knew

by emmaofmisthaven



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-16
Updated: 2014-07-16
Packaged: 2018-02-09 02:45:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1965990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmaofmisthaven/pseuds/emmaofmisthaven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Her first thought, oddly, is “I shouldn’t have yanked the IV line.”<br/>(Her second thought is “Is that the real Starry Night?)</p>
            </blockquote>





	and the ghosts that we knew

Her first thought, oddly, is “I shouldn’t have yanked the IV line.”

Her father loved to watch old movies, when he wasn’t watching old games – something about them being ‘classics’, even if Clarke had never really understood why it made them so important to begin with. But it was fun, especially on boring days when nothing of particular importance happened on the Ark, and so the whole family would spend their evening watching movies together. That detail, thought, that directors seemed so fond of, was one that made her mother edgy at best – both because of medical and Ark reasons. Clarke would laugh at her mother’s antics then, but now she regrets her actions.

Mostly because of the quarantine.

Neither she nor Monty are dead yet, which means that the Mountain Men, whoever they are, want them alive and so are curing them. Maybe it’s the air being toxic after all. Maybe it’s germs, or some sort of infectious disease. Clarke isn’t sure, but the IV line was there for a reason anyway. Some of the wounds she’s had since the shuttle landed are now healed and patched, her muscles stronger with a few generous meals. They’re keeping her in shape, they’re making sure she’s fit and healthy, and the IV line must have something to do with it.

So, really, it was a mistake yanking it in the first place, even out of survival instinct.

And really, it’s not as if she’s avoiding other thoughts by focusing on her health, because it’s an important issue that requires her full attention. But as always when you try your hardest not to think about something, said thing comes back to haunt you, there, at the front of your mind, until there is nothing else you can think of.

But Clarke doesn’t want to thing about… _everything_. She doesn’t want to close her eyes and see the bones, black like coal among the vestiges of their camps, doesn’t want to hear the silence of the forest all over again, burnt ground scrunching with each step she took and Anya’s almost scared voice at the sight of the Mountain Men. She doesn’t want to remember how the air was heavy and smoky to her lungs, how it smells like roasted meat and _death_.

She’d rather focus on her IV line, thank you very much.

(Her second thought is “Is that the _real_ Starry Night?)

 

…

 

She thinks of Finn in the dead of the night.

The images are never quite right, though. The eyes are more chocolate than black, turning golden in the sunset and crimson by the campfire. The hair is too short, not straight enough, falling lazily on his forehead and curly around his ears. The skin is too dark, the freckles too numerous, the height not quite right. When he says _princess_ , the voice is lower and huskier, missing that mocking tone – it’s more vulnerable and stronger at the same time, and it rings true to her ears.

Clarke wakes up frustrated even if she doesn’t remember her dreams.

 

…

 

She doesn’t mourn Finn. If she’s here, if Monty is here, then the others are too, then it means Raven may be in a room (cell?) of her very own. Clarke has no doubt the Mountain Men took care of her, even if she worries about the bullet and the spine and Raven walking again. But Raven must be mourning Finn, and so Clarke feels uncomfortable doing so too, for reasons she doesn’t quite understand.

So she thinks of Octavia, who was nowhere to be seen that night – no doubt safe somewhere far away with her Grounder by now, safer than any of them will every be.

Octavia who doesn’t know what happened, to them all, to her brother. Octavia who will never know, living in her blissful ignorance somewhere warm and pretty with Lincoln, probably by the sea, or in a nice peaceful forest.

So Clarke starts mourning Bellamy.

For Octavia.

 

…

 

The power goes off in the middle of the day, emergency lights casting orange shadows on every corner of her room. Clarke stands up in a startle, runs to the door and watches. She meets Monty’s eyes, as wide and surprised as hers might be, only to shriek in terror when another head pops up in front of her window.

(Later, she’ll go on record saying she _didn’t_ scream, only gasped loudly.)

The grin that welcomes her is crocked yet dazzling, eyes burning like bonfires in the darkness, constellation of freckles turning red in the unnatural light. Clarke has to blink, twice, just to make sure he is real, not her imagination playing tricks on her by conjuring a ghost. But he’s still here when she opens her eyes, all laughing eyes and proud grin, and so she presses herself to the door as his name tumbles out of her lips.

The door opens with a loud ‘click’ and then he’s there, right in front of her.

“Come. We need to –”

But whatever they need to do is cut short when she, quite literally, jumps into his arms, holding on tight with her arms around his neck. He’s all sharp angles and hard muscles where she’s curves and soft flesh, bodies awkward in the unexpected embrace as he wraps his arms around her waist. He smells like sweat and smoke and the forest – he smells like he needs a good bath, all things considered, but it’s also the smell of _home_ and Clarke inhales deeply.

“Hey there, princess,” he says against her ear in a barely concealed laugh, breath warm against her skin and definitely _not_ bringing a shiver down her spine.

It’s only when she lets go of him that she notices the other people getting out of their own rooms, that she hears the “it’s Bellamy!” and “Bellamy came back for us!” Hearing it makes it real, though, and she’s grateful for that.

Finn comes out of a nearby room with Raven on his back (she was right about the legs) (sometimes she hates being right) and the brunette flashes her a smile that Clarke can only mirror. And then she sees Jasper, hugging Monty, and all the others, ready to fight their way out of the mountain.

Clarke doesn’t stop smiling.

 

…

 

It’s only back in the cover of the forest, familiar and safe, that Clarke notices she’s been holding Bellamy’s hand all along.

She doesn’t do anything against it.


End file.
